I Can't Help Lovin' You
by RussianDragonn
Summary: Monica Fox, a Marine with her mind still replaying everything that has happened to her in the past 9 years in Afghanistan. After her last tour, she knows she needs help, and somehow Sam Wilson was there to see her plea. He decides that Monica needs someone else who she can relate to, Bucky. Sam is determined that Buck and Monica can fix each other, but she's not sure if he's right.


Monica Fox (or Mo as most people called her these days) was tired. Her arms burned, her calves burned, her thighs burned. Sweat trickled down her neck and on to her back but she couldn't feel it. The lights were dim in the small boxing gym, and it was even darker in the corner where she usually practiced at. Except for the owner who was in his office doing paperwork, she was alone. He usually left her alone, especially when she came in growling or sneering at everyone.

She wiped some sweat off her brow and looked at the battered punching bag that she had hung up a few hours before. It was about to fall apart, it seemed. There were a few grains of sand on the ground, making a noise beneath her bare feet. She made a swipe at the bag and it swung gently before slowing. Then she made a jab, and another, and all of a sudden she was unleashing her anger on the poor red bag for the fifth time that night.

Her mind flashed back to the war, one of her tours. To her, the details were all starting to blend together into one long stretch of hell. Snippets popped up. Her team breaking into an enemy base, watching bombs go off from a mile away, a torture session to get information, death, more death, and even more death. Always death.

Her jabs and kicks started slowing down as the gym owner stepped out of his office. He watched her as she punched the bag with curiosity. She had been going at it for hours. He knew a small amount about her. She was an ex Marine, she didn't work, she regularly attended the PTSD meetings at the DVA. She didn't have many friends, maybe due to the fact that the scowl was never off her face. Her hair had lighter roots than the rest, indicating that she dyed her hair darker. She had a limp on her right leg, but the reasons were unknown to him.

She finally stopped her assault and stepped back, deciding that the bag should have a break- at least until tomorrow, where the same routine should take place.

The owner approached slowly but not quietly. "Miss Fox? Do you need any help?"

She turned around, startled. "What? Oh, no. It's alright. I just have to take the bag down and I'm out of here." She didn't remember the owner's name. She scolded herself, he let her stay after hours almost every day, and she couldn't make the effort to remember his name.

"No need," he shook his head. "No one uses this corner anyways. You're the only one. You can leave it up."

"Oh," she said, not sure what else to say. She started to pack up her belongings into her bag. "Thank you for letting me stay after hours so much. It must be a pain."

He shook his head again. "No, its alright." Then he did something that neither of them thought that he would have done. "You were a Marine, right? What did you do?"

She nodded after a moment. "Yeah. I did four tours in Afghanistan and Iraq."

"Four? You don't look old enough to do four."

"I joined when I was 19. When I was 21 I was shipped out. I didn't get much time in-between tours. I'm almost 29 now, its possible."

"What was your job?"

She started unwrapping her hands. "Infantry. Front lines. It's the most brutal job."

He nodded. "There are a few Army guys that walk in here on Saturdays, I've heard. What was your rank?"

Mo started becoming impatient with the questions. Talking about herself wasn't something that she usually did. "Is, actually. I'm on the active duty list. Command Sergeant Major."

"Why do you limp?"

"And the questions will stop there." She stuttered out. She didn't like to think about it. It took a few more moments before she finished packing up. "Thank you for letting me stay after hours…"

"Tate. Tate Mathews." He offered her his hand, which she accepted. "Anytime. Anything for someone who's in the forces. If you have any friends, they're welcome here, too." She nodded and dropped his hand. "I'll walk you out."

The walk was short to the front and she bid farewell to the owner. She started walking to her apartment, unsurprised by how dark it was, and checked her phone.

 _Ten missed calls._ Someone wanted to get in contact with her. She hit the redial button. It rang for a few seconds before picking up. "Hello?"

"This is Monica Fo-"

"Vixen! I need your help."

She stumbled, taken off guard. "Sam Wilson? How did you get this number?"

He let out a sheepish laugh. "I saw you, today, at the DVA. And your number was on the sign-in sheet."

"Could you not have said 'Hello' or something then? Not calling me ten times?" She rolled her eyes.

She had met Sam Wilson in Afghanistan in her second tour. It had been his first, and they had become good friends very quickly. Sam had a quick wit and constantly made jokes, always livening up the base. Over the tour, numerous inside jokes and pranks had been created. Sam had basically been one of her best friends for the time being. After her fourth and his second tour, she had lost contact with him.

"I didn't actually know it was you. Or that you were in town. What were you doing in the DVA? Wait, no. Never mind. I can ask more questions later. I need your help."

"So you said." She rolled her eyes- something that she had constantly done with him and his antics, and even now it was no different.

"Stop rolling your eyes. I can feel it. Where are you now?"

"Walking home."

"How far are you from the DVA?"

"Um, like five blocks? Not too far. But its the opposite way of my apartment, and I'm really gross."

"Doesn't matter. Can I meet you halfway?"

"Sam-"

"Please, Monica?" She frowned. It was usually Vixen, not her actual name. "I need someone's help, someone who would understand."

"Sam, whats wrong? What did you do?"

She could imagine him walking down the street, shaking his head. "It's not for me. I'm okay, for now. I just need help. What street are you coming from?"

She huffed quietly, defeated. Her shower would have to wait. "7th. Can you meet at the Starbucks at the corner of-"

"I know where it is. I'll be there." He hung up with out saying bye.

She cursed him for making her do things for him and started the other way, brooding that she couldn't shower first.

It was a dark night, the moon was small and seemed dimmer. It was warmer for October, but she didn't mind. The streets were quiet, which were a bit unusual, but again, she didn't mind. It didn't take long for her to get to the coffee house. She stepped inside and the door jingled. The smell of coffee beans and something sweet filled the air. A girl stood behind the counter and smiled at her before going back to whatever she was doing on her phone. Mo looked around at the empty tables. Sam wasn't there yet.

She sat down at one of the tall tables in the corner and pulled her water out of her bag. Coffee sounded good, but caffeine this late at night would keep her up. She should eat something as well, but her stomach turned at the thought. She pulled out her phone, trying to ease herself with some mindless gaming.

The door chimed a few minutes later and she looked up. There he was, Sam Wilson, slightly out of breath. He looked slightly different than the last time she saw him. He looked more mature and less like a boy. She had to hop down from the chair to stand, a grin on her face. "Sam Wilson." She declared.

His head turned to her and a grin appeared on his face as well. "My, my, Monica Fox turned out to be a very foxy lady."

"Stop it you moron, and come give me a hug."

He grinned even bigger as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I missed you."

She wrapped her own arms around his waist and laughed. "I know. I missed you, too. We need to do a story swap."

He let go. "Yes, we do. But thats not why I'm here."

She led him to the table where she had her stuff. "I know. Why did you call me?"

"I need help." He said for the fifth time that night.

"With what?"

He ran his hands over his face. "I have this friend, well, more like a friend's friend, but whatever, and he's been through a lot." He looked at her. "I don't know who to ask. I didn't know anyone to ask until an hour ago. I cant go to a shrink, I cant do it, he doesn't trust a lot of people."

She blinked at him. "You want me, to do what exactly?"

"The DVA has helped you right? I asked one of the guys up there and he said that you have changed into a new person since you walked in, and that you're good at helping some of the others."

"I don't have a degree, though. I'm just there to listen to them." She shook her head. "Sam… you know I'd help you with anything."

"I hear a but," He frowned. "I know, it's a lot. He lives in Brooklynn."

"Sam… I'm about to go on my sixth tour. I can't start something and then leave in the middle of it."

He gave a sigh. "Okay, I get it. But when you come back, will you try?"

She bit her lip. "Maybe. I'll try. But I'm not sure if I'd be okay with helping others."

"I understand."

The conversation then changed to the subject of funny stories that had occurred since they lost touch. They swapped until the girl behind the counter asked them to leave, and then headed to a bar to continue. Mo sat laughing at one of Sam's stories.

"…And then, here he comes again, barely sweating, yelling 'On your left!' It was terrible. He ran 13 miles in thirty minutes, and he barely broke a sweat!"

The way Sam told his story left Mo in stitches, shaking from laughter.

"And then, when I confront him about being Captain America," He grinned, "This girl comes up in this fantastic car, and she says, "I'm looking for a fossil.' Vix, I got out-ran by a 95 year old man. He lapped me."

She laughed. "God, I wish I could meet Captain America. That would be great."

Sam laughed at the irony. She could, if she wasn't leaving again. "When do you leave?"

"In four days." She sipped her water. "Is it bad that I miss the sand?"

"You want to go back?" He stared at her like she had grown a third head.

She nodded. "I guess. I mean, I don't want to go back and see death, but you have to be a little bit insane to be in the infantry, and love it." She snickered at his look. "It's the adrenaline rush. Its better than rollercoasters. The uncertainty of it all is addicting."

"You are insane." He rolled his eyes as his phone rang. He muttered an apology before answering it. "Hey… Yeah, why- oh. Sure, man, I'll get more milk. The store is closed- Dude, I'm in a bar- Dude! Chill. I'm meeting a friend- I already asked. She can't- She's active. Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up I'm not asking her that… Stop that. I'm hanging up now." He rolled his eyes again and set the phone down. "I'm sorry. I have to go find a place that's open that has milk."

She laughed. "Alright. There should be a store on 8th thats 24 hours."

He nodded and stood up, dropping a twenty on the table. "Let me know when you get back, I'll introduce you to some friends. You'd like them."

She smiled and stood up as well. "I will, I'd love to meet some new friends." She punched his arm. "I'll see you Wilson."

"You better Vixen." He hugged her again and led her to the bar door. "Don't die out there. You have me to return to." He winked and then he was gone, heading towards 8th.

She shook her head and started on her walk the other way. Sam was a good guy, and she sure was glad to have his number again.

 **AN:: Thanks for reading! I know it's a slow start, but I can say that Steve and Sam will be in the next chapter, and Bucky will be in chapter three. Give a review if you like it, or don't like it, I'll appreciate it anyway. :)  
**

 **-Tash**


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